


Of Numbered Days

by TruebornAlpha



Series: Homeward Bound [18]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alterate Universe, Feels, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Sceter - Freeform, Sciles, Slavery, Suicidal Thoughts, Teen Wolf AU, dubious consenet overtones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:42:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1826704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott returned to Peter Hale and his life as a pet to save Stiles, but Detective Stilinski isn't going to let his best friend sacrifice himself without a fight. It's the final showdown between Peter, Scott, and Stiles and no one walks away unscathed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Numbered Days

It took too long for Stiles to heal. When he was discharged, he wasn’t even sure he had, but anything was better than being stuck in a too bland room with only his thoughts for companions. Right now, they were poor company.

He moved in with his dad, didn’t even fight it. His old room was just like he’d left it, save for a few extra boxes that lined his closet. His dad always had trouble throwing away old things, moving on. It was probably genetic. But his dad let him wallow. Stiles needed that. Stiles needed a lot of things.

Through it all, Peter Hale remained in his periphery. Stiles didn’t know if he was imagining it or if he really had a tail. He didn’t know much of anything anymore, it seemed like. It didn’t matter. They could follow him all they wanted. He wasn’t going anywhere.

He knew exactly it would look like if he went after Scott. Allison didn’t explain it, not in so many words, but she opened his eyes to just how many legal footsteps had encircled their case. There were four different independent parties praising Hale, his resources, his _potential_. Dr. Tate was occupied with making sure her patients remained hers, but she still said she hadn’t been surprised when Scott chose to leave.

Stiles yelled that Scott hadn’t chosen anything.

She let him leave without calling security.

And he knew where to find Peter Hale. He knew it was only because Hale wanted to be found. He couldn’t leave, not yet. Stiles suspected Isaac Lahey would have more to worry about than staying sane before long. Hale wasn’t afraid of anything. Stiles wondered how long his injury leave would remain ‘leave.’ There were very few people who he could count on, and even less who knew he had relearned how to walk.

Then one day, Stiles woke up and bought a shotgun. 

____

The new Hale house was deceptively unguarded, no compound like his last estate. It was a modern design, sleek lines and too much glass in the hills overlooking the ocean. A winding path led down to the water, a secluded beachfront. It was a brazen display of power and money, Peter’s way of showing that he was part of the elite and had nothing to hide. He would be considered beyond reproach sharing the lifestyle of his high-powered neighbors, integrating himself into their inner circles and finding champions of his innocent among those with had the clout to make a difference. The practice of owning dangerous and illegal pets was a rich man’s game and there were those in the subtle network that were more than happy to help.

For Scott, the house was no less a prison. He had free reign of the place, Peter more confident in his control over the wolf than he’d ever been with chains and shackles. At least here he could sit by the window, letting the sun warm his skin as he watched the ocean below, a reward for his obedience. The word didn’t even prompt a shiver anymore, he couldn’t feel anything. He’d shut down, let himself grow cold and numb until it didn’t hurt anymore. Scott wasn’t sure how long he could keep the empty void inside, but he’d hold onto it as long as he could. Peter never seemed to care as long as he said all the right things, shuddered beneath his hands and whimpered for his touch. The wolf had been trained to know exactly what the Hale wanted, it wasn’t hard to keep him happy.

He hadn’t been forced to fight yet, the bloodsport potentially attracting too much unwanted attention for a man repairing his reputation, but he’d seen the guests his master brought home. They looked him over like they were examining a racehorse and it took all of his self-control not to snap his fangs at them. They were measuring him up, mentally pitting him against their own fighting dogs, it was just a matter of time. Scott sighed and dragged his fingertip across the glass window. His life didn’t start until Peter called on him, the rest of his existence a quiet waiting game. A pretty piece of art for the Hale’s house.

____

Down on their luck detectives didn’t have many friends, but they still had people who were willing to fill a trunk with homemade explosives and illicitly obtained ammunition and then some. Stiles couldn’t walk straight. Every few steps forced him to give pause, to reconsider every decision he’d ever made. Always at the top of his mind was wondering how they’d been found out. That wasn’t difficult to fathom. They’d had to inform a lot of channels about a werewolf leaving his assigned boundaries. Somewhere along the line they weren’t safe, and that was okay.

No one knew about this. No one who mattered.

There was a pile of junk in a storage space downtown that held the remains of an old Jeep. There were as many memories as there were battle scars on that corpse, but this - Stiles never wanted this to reach the people he cared about. Hale had already done enough of that.

Hale was a step above the rest, with the resources and expertise to turn his home into a fortress. Except the whole world would see that. The security system he had was state of the art, but with his track record, Stiles was willing to bet that any silent alarms it sent out wouldn’t go directly to the Beacon Hills Police Department. He was depending on it.

The beach’s parameter was the most secured, but once Stiles got passed that, the trek was mostly free of obstacles. He dragged with him the unfortunate security guard whose services seemed so obsolete among the electric defenses Hale had installed. Stiles dropped him and his chloroform-doused rag out of sight. He used the man’s earpiece to send a message to inform the rest of his colleagues of a disturbance on the other end of the property - and to gauge how many of them there were. There were only two replies. Stiles counted that as fortunate.

The beach was built with the markings of arena, spread out for spectators’ pleasure.  
  
There was enough space to hunt.

Hale’s house belonged on the cover of magazines. It was a work of art. Dirty sneakers had no place in its scoured halls. Stiles wondered how long he had. The pain in his joints told him not very, but he hurried as quick as he could, grip tight on the barrel of a loaded gun. He was tired, so tired, but he was almost there. 

For a moment, he thought he’d taken a wrong turn. Walking into Hale’s living room looked like walking unto a beach deck. Light filtered in from every angle, a victory in panoramic art.

It was outshone by the boy in the collar. Stiles had a plan. Stiles had  _a plan_. But his knees buckled, and his heart hurt, and all he could say was, “Scott.”

____

“No.” He whispered the word, fear shattering the numbness like a punch to the gut. It was a dream, some nightmare bringing back a ghost to haunt him. Please, let it just be a dream! Scott stumbled to feet that suddenly felt like they belonged to someone else and flung his arms around Stiles, ignoring the gun and the danger and the rest of the universe. His hands grasped the detective’s jacket tightly, twisting hard into the fabric to keep Stiles from disappearing, his nose nuzzling against the human’s cheek. The skin was warm, the scent of home flooded through Scott’s senses and he knew this was real. Horrifyingly, inconceivably, worst thing that could ever possibly happen _real_.

Scott should have demanded an explanation for Stiles recklessly storming the castle. He should have hustled him out of the door the moment he showed up to give him the best chance at escape. He should yelled at him for being here, the stupid wonderful idiot. Instead, the first panicked words out of his mouth were a gasped and almost accusatory, “you’re in pain!”

He covered Stiles’s face in kisses, pulling in the pain without conscious thought and holding on to it like he could keep a piece of his human locked safely inside. “You can’t be here…I’m sorry. I’m sorry, god, I’m so sorry, Stiles.” Scott stumbled over the words, mind white with fear.  All of this was to protect his friend, but there was no saving him now.

“I have to get you out of here. If you get yourself killed, I swear I will never fucking forgive you, do you understand?” Scott whispered harshly, barely able to pull his mouth away from Stiles’s skin enough to speak.

“How nice to see you again, Detective. Somehow, I don’t think you have a warrant with you.” The voice was too calm, laced with amusement and cut like a blade. Scott squeezed his eyes closed, refusing to let go. “No matter what I, as an honest and upstanding businessman, try to do with myself, it always seems to come back to you, Detective Stilinski. This is much more than just harassment, this feels a bit like a personal vendetta to me. I just don’t know what I’ve done to earn you as my enemy.”

Peter snapped his fingers and Scott tensed before stepping back, flushed with humiliation as he knelt at the Hale’s feet. Maybe if he played along, he could ease this anger and Stiles would be allowed to leave? The wolf kept his eyes on the floor, never wanting to see the look he knew must be on Stiles’s face.

____

"Stop, stop- we have to go," Stiles insisted, breathless and tired, and fooling absolutely no one. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t go through with this, not if it meant pulling away from Scott. He thought of endless days that bled together, too bogged down by pain and exhaustion to move, where all he could think of was how Scott had felt against him. What his hands were like, how gentle he could be, how he sounded when he laughed. What they had was real and perfect and taken too soon, and no one could ask Stiles to give that up again. Scott was born to wreck him.

"Come with me," he pleaded, and pain fled from his veins. Nothing had ever mattered so much but making this offer. He meant every word. "Come with me. We’ll go; we’ll get out of here. Leave it all behind. The plane leaves in two hours. Won’t look back. Just go please just go-"

He couldn’t stand. Stiles didn’t know how he was still standing. He’d give up anything to go back to the place they’d made their home, with the faulty dishwasher that used too much soap and windows that wouldn’t open all the way, Scott’s stupidly shrill alarm clock like a dropping pin wouldn’t have disturbed him, and a t.v. they never really had time to watch.

It took every ounce of strength Stiles possessed to bite back a sob when Peter Hale made an appearance. 

Disgust twisted his features, too exaggerated to be sincere, and at one time, the only person who would have been able to tell the difference was Scott. Stiles wondered if he still could. Right now, it was only too easy to conjure up the sentiment. 

He could have reached out for Scott. He could have. His hands balled into fists so tight he threatened to cut through his palms. 

"Take another step, Hale, and none of us are walking away." Stiles warned, and every word was a struggle to keep from screaming. He touched the edge of his hip, where the outline of a wire-pierced case made more promises than Stiles was ready to keep. "You’re going to let me, and Scott go."

____

“I don’t think my little pet wants to leave.” Peter said smugly, running a possessive hand through Scott’s hair. The wolf rubbed his cheek against his master’s hip, body responding to the touch almost instinctively and he hated himself for it. He had been humiliated like this in front of people before, but never someone he knew. Never someone he loved. This was so much worse than any of the pain or the abuse Peter seemed to love so much.

“I don’t think you’ll risk him, Detective. After all you’ve done to find him again, you’ve spent your whole life looking for him. Yes, I know all about you and your history, you don’t have any secrets from me. All those years wasted trying to save him when you’re the one who will end his life?” The Hale chuckled, hooking a finger into the ring on Scott’s collar and jerking him up to his feet. He pressed a gentle kiss to the wolf’s temple, proving his ownership. “I want you to take that little device from our friend here, pup. He’s our guest and we have a strict policy about visitors and weapons, don’t we?” He pushed Scott forward who hesitated before slowly making his way back to Stiles.

 Scott’s posture was one of defeat and submission, head bowed and shoulders hunched, but he met Stiles’s eyes with an angry, defiant glare and the barest of nods. _Do it. End this, I trust you._ Let is all end, at least they’d go out together and take that asshole with them. He paused, hands slipping around Stiles’s waist.

“I’m not afraid.” He murmured, leaning close enough to brush his lips against the human’s. “Don’t let him hurt you, Stiles. I’m sorry.”

“I’m waiting, pup.”

Scott flinched at the tone, fingers tugging at the material of Stiles’s shirt. “I love you. I’m ready.”

____

Stiles watched. It didn’t matter if his life ended now or 50 years later. The image would haunt him til the end. Hale’s confidence was chilling. He’d never forget what that looked like, how Scott looked on his knees, terrified but obedient with a monster preying over them both.

"He’s all I want." Stiles wasn’t sure how he was talking. He didn’t recognize his own voice, twisted and mutilated with anger. "If I can’t have him, neither can you."

Then Scott looked at him, and he couldn’t. He couldn’t. He knew what Scott looked like when he was annoyed, when the covers were too warm and they were safe in the middle of the night. He knew what Scott looked like when morning came too quickly, and when he laughed so hard he cried. He never wanted to see what he’d looked like when he surrendered.

"Scott," Stiles whispered, a plea caught in his throat. Scott was beautiful and brave, and Stiles would have given so much to just be those boring little boys who had no patience and no sense. Maybe he could have ended it all, but the moment Scott looked at him, his strongest defenses fell apart. Don’t make me say goodbye. I love you. Please stop this. 

"I’m sorry."

That was the only thing he could offer him.

He didn’t reach out for his werewolf, the love of his life, the man who might be forced to kill him. The parcel was nothing but a paper-wrapped box with too many wires and blinking lights, cobbled together in the Stilinski garage. It wasn’t a bomb. Anyone could see that. It wasn’t much else.

There was a gun in his hand that he didn’t want to use, and ammunition across his hip that he’d never reach for. Stiles couldn’t do it anymore. Scott had always been the strong one. Stiles was tired of pretending.

____

“I already have him.” The challenge was clear.

Scott wrapped his arms around Stiles’s neck, kissing him defiantly. There was never a way to fight against Peter, his control too deep and the leash around his neck too tight, but he could remind the Hale that there were parts of him that could never be owned. However Peter had twisted and manipulated his heart into wanting him, Scott had given it to Stiles long before and nothing could undo it. Stiles had him first, would have him forever.

He ran his hands through his love’s hair and down to cup his jaw, kissing him like he could somehow make this all disappear. Scott slid his hands lower, taking the gun and reaching around to unhook the box of wires from around Stiles’s waist.

“Good boy.” Peter crooned as Scott stepped back and set the box on the floor. “Did you really think this would work, Detective? I expected better of you, your file said you were highly intelligent. This whole venture seems a little too risky even for you. Is he really worth so much? Maybe I should let you have a taste before I kill you, it would be the honorable thing to do.” He laughed, gesturing at his enemy as he settled himself back into a plus, expensive chair to watch. “Put him on his knees, pup.”

Scott grit his teeth and moved around behind Stiles, running his hands down his back. “I’m sorry, Stiles.” A swift kick to the back of the knees and he forced the human down.

“Let’s play a little game, Detective. I’ll show you some of my favorite tricks I’ve taught my dog and we’ll see how much you appreciate them. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll give you a little show of some of our more personal lessons that I’ve passed along. I wonder if you’ve been experimenting with them while he was with you. I can show you some of his skills that I don’t think you’ve quite discovered yet.”

The wolf shuddered, hands tensing where they rested on Stiles’s shoulders.

“He loves me, did you know that? Has he told you? You can ask him if you don’t believe me.”

_____

Stiles let it go. He let Scott do anything he had to, eyes screwed shut like he had a chance to hide tears that threatened to fall. He didn’t know how he was still standing, let alone fighting. When Scott pulled away, he couldn’t bite back the strangled sob that escaped him. Just one more minute, he’d have given so much for one more minute, and it was sick when Hale’s offers started to sound appealing.

The jolt left Stiles yelling. He fell to his knees with a heavy thud that sent ripples of pain through his senses. His arm was tensing up again. Holding it steady hurt; holding anything steady hurt. Stiles wanted it to be over. He wouldn’t look at the gun on the floor.

"Shut up," he snarled, words more hollow than he cared to admit. His leg was trembling out of his control, and as spikes of heat danced across his nerves, he knew he had Hale to thank for that as well. "It’s over, you disgusting piece of shit. Every move you make, everything you do, the department’ll be breathing down your neck. If I die, where do you think the first place they look will be? They’ll tear your fucking house apart."

His pulse was too loud, too fast, but Scott would need less to hear the blind hope in his words. He’d need even less to know of the rage that spiked every one.

____

“I don’t think they will. I have a lot of powerful friends, you know.” Nothing seemed to rattle him, the Hale secure in his power. “Why do you think I’ve been able to rebuild so quickly from your constant harassment, Detective Stilinski? There are more like us than you know. We control where you hunt and who you find. Every once in a while, you pop up annoyingly in our circles, but it’s always easy to distract you again. We own you and your whole little department. You work for us.”

He snapped his fingers at Scott, never addressing the wolf by name. “I want to see him submit.” Scott fisted his hand into Stiles’s hair and yanked his head back sharply as Peter laughed. “Should I have him hurt you? Or should I have you watch while I take him apart and make him beg for it? Which do you think would do you the most good?”

Scott didn’t move, but the veins in his hands flowed black as he tried to steal every pain he inflicted without being noticed. He wanted to fight, to scream and tear the man apart but Peter’s control ran too deep and he didn’t know how to make himself stop. _I’m sorry, please know I’m sorry. I never wanted you to see this._

“Me.”

“What was that pup?”

“I’m his weakness, master. Use me and he’ll break.  He’ll survive pain, but he won’t survive knowing I chose you. Please, let me show him that I need you…” The words were ash in his mouth, but he needed to believe them just for a moment. If he could believe, so would Peter Hale.

___

Stiles gasped though he should have expected it. His throat bared in forced submission. He forced himself to straighten, closing his eyes, and he wished he was only pretending to blink back tears. He needed to maintain that level of honesty. The first touch of relief still made him want to cry harder.

 _Don’t do it_ , he wanted to plead. His head was spinning. He wanted everything to stop, and Scott had lived through seven years of this. “Bullshit,” Stiles bit out. “You’ve got no one on your side Hale. It took you how many months to get out again? And can’t you so much as Google an airline without us on your ass.”

His voice wavered. Stiles hated himself for it. He dragged in another breath. It felt too much like it would be his last.

"You’re only good with toys that are already broken, Hale. Put a bullet through my head or quit boring me."

And through it all it was Scott’s hands holding him steady, Scott breaking all the rules for him, and Stiles couldn’t get him out of this fast enough. Stiles couldn’t save him. Stiles couldn’t save himself. He was sorry. He was more sorry than Scott would ever know.

____

“Come here, pup.”

Scott was a good pet, obedience written into his flesh until it became so ingrained he didn’t know how to live without it. He wondered what kind of man he’d be if he hadn’t been taught to love being on his knees.  The wolf kissed along Stiles’s jaw like he was mocking him, putting on a show for Peter, claws prickling along his skin to draw blood. His foot hooked the forgotten gun, pulling it close and tucking it beside Stiles’s body as he turned to wrap himself around his master.

“Good boy.” The Hale murmured, hands stroking down Scott’s body with such intimate familiarity it left him gasping.  He sought Peter’s mouth, unabashed desire rippling through him. It wasn’t fair, he hated this man who had stolen everything in his life from him, but Peter had crawled inside his head and manipulated his thoughts until Scott wasn’t sure which were his own anymore. It was twisted and sick and possessive, but it was love of a sort, the only kind he’d had in so long. It poisoned everything, bleeding through his chest until he wanted to claw through his own ribs to get it out.

He ran his hands through his master’s hair as Peter’s swaying hips stole a groan, his heart breaking. It was easy to surrender, twisting them around until the human’s back was towards the detective as he nuzzled his cheek against Peter’s shoulder. “I’m sorry…” Scott despised the fact he meant those words, wishing he could just hate the man who had turned a healer’s hands into a killer’s.

Dark eyes met the captive’s, trying to speak in that way they used to where words never mattered. The innate way they could always read each other. _Kill him_.

____

Stiles gasped and arched like he was the trained performer. He watched. He had no other choice. Scott’s claws dug in so much deeper than anyone would ever know. They’d been digging in for over a decade, and only growing sharper with every day.  _Don’t_ , Stiles couldn’t plead, and he knew what Scott sounded like when he was wrecked. He’d seen Scott when he was helpless and pleading, and so, so eager for it. 

The box continued to blink its lights, its numerous wires completely useless when it came to supplying the machinery hidden in its lower left corner. The recording and transmitting device was a simple thing, relaying their conversation to people who had given Stiles too many chances. He’d failed them. He’d found nothing useful beyond an overly eager ‘victim’ and a smug son-of-a-bitch. It was too late. He’d failed.

There were cars pulling into the driveway, but Stiles didn’t know that. There were people who were going to try and make the most out of a civil disturbance case and another desperate attempt with too many risks. Stiles didn’t know that.

But Stiles knew what Scott looked like when he was happy. When he met his gaze, he didn’t need to think about lifting the gun. A spark of heat passed between them. Anger was contagious. Hated was easy. The shot round tore Hale to pieces. He was as useless a human being as he was a shield.

The living room door burst open, and Hale’s guards wouldn’t get a better reason to open fire.

"Freeze!" Someone yelled, a million miles away. "BHPD!"

Stiles wouldn’t hear them. The impact sent him sprawling. Around him, people were shouting. 

Stiles thought about how Scott looked when he was happy. He thought about that until he couldn’t think anymore.

_____

Scott watched blue eyes grow wide with surprise and betrayal, Peter’s hands grasping at the wolf’s shoulders as blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth.  His heart was breaking, or maybe it was what was left of his chest that ached so much. The bullet had passed through the Hale and Scott wondered if it was rattling around somewhere in his own ribs now. It didn’t hurt as much as he thought it should…it barely hurt at all.

Peter pulled him down as he collapsed, trapping Scott beneath his body. The wolf cradled the dying man in his arms, tracing bloodstained fingers down his master’s face as he tried to speak. One last order or one last curse, Scott never knew. He couldn’t deny the grief in losing him, the man had shaped him and his mark would linger. There was a kind of safety and familiarity in Peter’s cruelty and though Scott despised it, at least it made a twisted sort of sense when the rest of the world didn’t. But beneath the loss was an overwhelming and undeniable sense of relief and the wolf embraced the feeling.

He lay back smiling, hand pressed against the bloody mess of his chest as people rushed in, yelling in muted unintelligible voices. Someone was asking him questions that didn’t make any sense and Scott just smiled serenely back, detached and calm.

“He saved me.” He wasn’t sure if he actually managed to murmur the words or if they were just in his mind. “Stiles…I need Stiles.”

_I love him._

Scott needed to close his eyes for a minute, just until he managed to catch his breath. It was going to be okay now. They had kept talking about starting over, finding a way to have a normal life again but the chains around him stretched back to Peter Hale’s hand and it would always have been impossible until now. He could find a way to live; he could put the pieces of his ruined life back together again.

It was over. He was finally free.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an ongoing collaborative work/RP that has been fic-i-fied! (hence the switch in POV)
> 
> You can find Tmautog's awesome fics on [tumblr](http://tmautog.tumblr.com/tagged/writing) and keep up with this story [here](http://nevertrustastilesthing.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can read Rune/TruebornAlpha [Here](http://fightingforthepack.tumblr.com/) and find her on tumblr at [ Runicscribbles](runicscribbles.tumblr.com)


End file.
